


Thrill

by squidmemesinc



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Barebacking, Car Sex, Glove Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Getting shot at always makes me want to fuck. Something about surviving. I can’t believe it doesn’t do the same thing for you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrill

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This started because of maf shenanigans on Twitter. We had a really good game with spy!Bokuto and driver!Iwaizumi (and I was neither) but anyway we thought about it and it seemed like a good idea to have them fuck in a car. Also I realized I have a thing for black leather gloves.
> 
> I tried to keep this shorter than most of my other porn and I think I succeeded \o/
> 
> Thanks so much to Laura for beta-ing, esp because I was being a weenie.

Hajime’s car smells like leather first, cigarettes second, and blood third. Just the way Koutarou likes it. Mostly. The blood is his, while the smoke smell and leather can be attributed to Hajime—who is currently swearing quietly as he stares out the windshield into the darkness of the old warehouse, still breathing hard from the chase, as if he had been the one running, not Koutarou—the blood is Koutarou’s. He’s still holding the torn-off sleeve of his shirt against his arm where the bullet grazed his bicep, waiting for Hajime to come back to him.

Hajime turns around, still more or less oblivious to the other person in his car, checking his back window, Koutarou presumes.

“They didn’t get it,” he offers helpfully.

“They got my trunk, though, I’m sure of it. Dammit!” Hajime slaps the heel of his palm against the steering wheel, a satisfying sound of the leather of his gloves on the leather of the wheel. He leans his forehead down between his hands and sighs. “You are…the _worst_ spy ever.”

“The worst spy is a dead spy,” Koutarou rebuts cheerfully. “I got the intel, and I’m still kickin’. Speaking of, you want to help me wrap this up before I bleed out and that becomes untrue?”

Hajime’s head shoots up. He’s suddenly worried, since he doubles as a driver and a doctor. “You got shot? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Only grazed. And I figured getting away from the guys with the guns was more important.”

Hajime throws his hands up as if this is ridiculous, but doesn’t offer a counterpoint. “Let me see,” he says after a second. He sounds frustrated, and Koutarou is already thinking of how he can lessen that.

“I might get blood on your car.” The shirt is soaked through with blood, and his hand feels wet and slimy, but it’s a regular enough job hazard, and he’s more or less used to pain like this.

“It doesn’t matter at this point, since there are holes in my trunk. Show me.” Koutarou moves his hand off his arm, along with the fabric. The blood is still flowing, though not as persistently as it was earlier; it hasn’t had enough time to clot. “Give me your other sleeve.” He provides his arm, and Hajime grips the material before tugging sharply at it to rip it free. He binds the wound expertly, and much better than Koutarou could have done with one working arm and his teeth, so he’s grateful.

“We should get you back to base so I can clean it up.” He moves his hand to turn the key and get them out of this temporary hiding place to somewhere with actual medical supplies, but Koutarou catches it, making him look back up. “What?”

“They could still be looking for us. We should wait for a while.”

“I can outmaneuver them. I want to get you fixed up.” He moves his hand away from Koutarou’s and starts the car.

“Hajime.”

When he looks over this time, he doesn’t get much of a chance to see anything before Koutarou’s kissing him, fisting his hands into Hajime’s short hair, sucking at his lip and pulling him closer to him. He kisses back tensely, his gloved hand still gripping his key, the other sadly on the wheel, off Koutarou’s body. He presses more insistently at Hajime’s lips, trailing a hand down over his neck, rubbing his thumb across it in a way that’s meant to get him to loosen up, but Hajime just pulls away. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you, obviously?”

“With some serious intent,” Hajime adds for him. Koutarou shrugs. “Here, now, really? You just got shot.”

“Turn off the car and fuck me, Hajime.”

Hajime’s look is nearly dead flat, but the furrow between his brows is skeptical. “Do you really have no sense of self-preservation at all?”

Koutarou shifts again to face him better. “Look, they’re going to be after us, clearly. They’re not going to find us here, but they’ll be closer to this spot right now, so if we leave, they’re more likely to find us. More holes in your trunk. They might get your window this time,” he reasons, taking pleasure at how the furrow deepens as Hajime considers this logic, and imagines his precious window in a thousand pieces. “We should kill some time.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Hajime chuckles a little at his partner’s stupid expression. “You really are an idiot. I don’t know how you’re still alive.” He looks out the front of the car again, biting his lip and nodding just slightly. After a bit he huffs and turns off the car and Koutarou knows he’s won.

Koutarou grins and opens the door, scuttling around to slide into the back. He starts pulling off his shoes one handed and drops them on the floor. Hajime is messing around with the glove box, so he tackles his shirt buttons next. His partner finally gets out of the front and into the back, shutting the door quietly and carefully.

Hajime slides into the small space Koutarou has left for him, as he’s mostly spread out across two seats, and starts to undo the button on one of his gloves, but Koutarou nudges him gently on the stomach with his foot. “Hey, leave those on.”

Hajime pauses. “What? Why?”

“I like them. When did you even get them?”

He looks a little embarrassed, but snaps the button back on. “Today. Impulse buy.”

“Good choice.” He stares hungrily at Hajime until he takes the hint and crawls over him.

“I don’t get why you want to do it in my _car_ of all places,” Hajime murmurs against his neck, grazing his teeth along it.

Koutarou hums happily. “Getting shot at always makes me want to fuck. Something about surviving. I can’t believe it doesn’t do the same thing for you.” He curls his fingers into Hajime’s short hair again and presses him against his neck, earning a sharp bite.

Hajime’s hand roams across Koutarou’s bare abs and up to his chest. He’s sucking on his neck now, leaving a big red mark, no doubt, and Koutarou hisses happily. His hand moves up between Hajime’s legs and he palms at his crotch. Hajime pushes down into his hand and growls against his neck.

“Maybe it does,” Koutarou says, breathing a laugh.

Hajime moves to his lips now, kissing him with the passion he had sought earlier. Koutarou opens his mouth and his hot, wet tongue presses against his, making him moan. He traces the outline of Hajime’s cock with his fingers, feeling his own arousal grow as he bites the soft flesh of his lip. A leather-covered thumb rubs over one of his nipples and he shivers; it’s cool and smooth, not betraying the warmth of Hajime’s hot blood pumping beneath it.

They kiss hard and rough, tongue and teeth, grunts and moans. Limbs are pressing and shuffling, seeking stability or touch in the cramped back seat of Hajime’s car. It’s not as small as some, but it’s still less roomy than their bed at their apartment. In some ways, Koutarou misses the space, like he misses the use of his left arm so he could run his hands across Hajime’s well-toned back, feeling the shift of his shoulders beneath his shirt; but at the same time, he likes being boxed in like this, so there’s only Hajime and leather around him.

He fumbles open Hajime’s belt after a while longer, working open his button and the zipper and thrusting his hand into his pants to grip his dick. Hajime groans into his mouth as he starts to give him hard pulls, twisting his hand up and around, pressing his thumb across the wet slit.

Hajime breaks their kiss for a brief moment, eyes shut, and mumbles quietly across Koutarou’s lips, “If you want me to keep the gloves on you have to undo your own pants.”

“Gotcha,” Koutarou says, obliging after grinding his palm down hard over his clothed erection for a quick bit of relief before popping his button and sliding down the fly. Hajime quickly bats his hand away and jerks down his underwear. He sits back, leaving Koutarou trailing after his lips, but he’s already kneeling across from him as he wraps a gloved hand around Koutarou’s cock. Their eyes meet and Koutarou chokes on a hard moan rising in his throat at the lust in Hajime’s eyes.

The leather against his swollen prick is just as cool as it was against his chest, and his eyes dart between Hajime’s face and his hand. He sees and feels Hajime’s thumb spill the precum collected in his tip, smooth it down his shaft, and he pushes a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. “ _God,_ I love those gloves.”

Hajime smirks and offers the other hand to Koutarou’s mouth. Koutarou accepts a finger, sucking at the tip. Hajime pushes it deeper into him, pressing on his tongue, across his cheek. He presses against the bottom row of Koutarou’s teeth, urging his mouth open, and he groans again. The leather is slick with his spit now, and leaves a trail across his chest as Hajime runs it across his skin.

“Hajime, _please_ ,” Koutarou pleads, staring into Hajime’s glinting eyes as he rocks his hips against his other hand.

Hajime smirks and moves both his hands to Koutarou’s hips to tug off his pants. He starts to pull off his gloves again, and Koutarou frowns. “I’m not getting lube on my gloves,” Hajime explains.

Koutarou brightens. Glove box, he remembers. “Oh, so you did put lube in here?” It had been his suggestion after the last time, when they’d been caught without it and Hajime had refused to just use saliva. They’d just blown each other instead.

“You got so dejected, and I figured it would happen again.” He pulls a small bottle out of his pocket and pours some onto his fingers.

Koutarou sucks in a breath at the feel of Hajime’s slick finger rubbing across his hole. He lets it out when Hajime pushes in deep, sliding smoothly in and out of him. He adds another quickly and spreads them. Koutarou brings his hand to his own cock and starts pumping it as Hajime fingers him. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, shutting his eyes and melting into the car seat.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Hajime warns, curling his fingers. Koutarou can hear the grin in his voice, and he groans and shifts his hips down against his hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pun intended. Hajime chuckles, but Koutarou doesn’t think he caught it, and he doesn’t feel like pointing it out. He adds another finger and scissors all three of them, pushing in as deep as his knuckles will allow, pressing up on each thrust. Koutarou’s hand is speeding up over his cock and he’s thrusting against himself and Hajime as he moans and whines. “Jesus, Hajime…”

Hajime withdraws his fingers and pours more lube onto them, this time spreading it over his cock. He lifts Koutarou’s hips, and Koutarou hooks his knees over Hajime’s shoulders so he can line himself up. He pushes in slowly, slower than Koutarou wants, and he accepts the dull burn with a groan. His hand slows across his cock, not because he can’t take it, but because he wants this to last.

“You good?” Hajime asks after a moment. His thumbs are rubbing across the bones of Koutarou’s hips.

Koutarou shakes his head blissfully. “Don’t even ask.”

“Shut up, you asshole, of course I’m going to ask.”

Koutarou grins up at him. “That just means I have to train you better.”

Hajime pulls out a bit and slams back into him. “ _Who’s_ training me now?” He starts to pump in and out of him at a steady pace and Koutarou’s legs are shaking. He groans in response.

The air in the car feels warmed with their hot breaths, their hot skin, sticking to them, making them sweat lightly. The leather catches at Koutarou’s back where his shirt has been rucked up to exposed it to the seat, and there are squeaks of the slipping as Hajime pounds into him. His hands squeeze Koutarou’s thighs, and his grunts intermingle with Koutarou’s moans of pleasure. His cock is so thick and hot inside him, and his hand is a nice rough counterpart to the slickness in his ass.

Hajime quickens his pace, and Koutarou only lasts a little longer before he releases over his stomach and hand. His partner thrusts hard and deep into him a few more times before he feels even more wetness inside him and he hears Hajime let loose a long groan.

He pulls out and sinks back into the seat, and Koutarou drops his legs into his lap. The car is probably going to be a mess now, and he feels a little bad about it, but as Hajime said earlier, the trunk’s already full of holes. Besides, it’s not the first time it’s been shot, or…come upon...and he has a suspicion that Hajime actually _likes_ cleaning and maintaining his car. They sit in the back, listening to the cicadas chirp and the sounds of their own breathing return to normal.

“Did you bring tissues?” Koutarou asks after a while.

“Uhh,” Hajime replies.

“Napkins?”

“Um.”

Koutarou chuckles. “Help me get my shirt off, then. It’s ruined anyway.”


End file.
